AN: This piece jumps forward again to after Conrad has started having anal sex with Luce, but not very far past this point. The prompt was either to knock someone up or inflate them, and since I'm treating this as a serious story I wasn't going to do that. However, a perfectly normal enema will cause very mild inflation of that area, so I will warn that there is detailing of such things. It's matter-of-fact and not sexualized, so I believe anyone should be able to read this. This piece is finally some insight into Conrad's life, with his mother and with his classmates at school, rather than just into his sex life with Luce, and was quite interesting to write. Anyway, Hanna is Not a Boy's Name still belongs to the marvelous Tessa Stone. I am not making any money and mean no offense.

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PSYCHOLOGY OF A HUMMINGBIRD

-by: Lira-

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.004. - "Inflation/M-Preg" - .Transfixed.

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Conrad sat on the edge of the closed toilet lid, the cool porcelain almost a comfort where the undersides of his legs pressed against it. The house was silent, a state that often befell it when Conrad's mother went out and he was left to his own devices. Conrad's hands were in front of him, a slender plastic tube spanning the gap between the left and right. Slowly Conrad uncoiled and recoiled it, the springy nature of the tubing almost enough to provide a distraction.

Conrad was finally alone; Conrad could finally do this. He'd been feeling sick and nauseous for so many days lately and he hadn't known what to do, but then he'd had this plan and had not been able to act upon it. He'd only thought of it because of those girls from school, the ones in his computer class who sat at the row behind him and were always gossiping about their active sex lives while Conrad was trying to do his classwork. Conrad knew that just a few months before, their talk would have made him blush furiously, all the way to the tips of his ears, so that he could only hunch his shoulders and inch closer to the computer screen, as if the monitor could protect him from their vulgarity.

Conrad still blushed at all of the girls' candid descriptions, but now things were different.

A few months before, if Conrad heard enough choice words from Kayla to deduce that she was again bemoaning the fact that her boyfriend only seemed to like the back door, he might have fumbled out his ipod so quickly he nearly dropped it, shoving the buds of the earphones into his ears to drown out the words. Now he huddled hunched before the screen, but with ears pricked to listen to his peer's tales of anal play, lest she free any gems he might scoop up, still with face burning, to cart back to Luce. Now, when she enthused the use of enemas Conrad took note, because it could never hurt to have the details down.

The enema bag sloshed gently when Conrad shook it, already filled for use and with the length of the tubing still wrapped around one of Conrad's hands. In recollecting the source of this idea, as if that would help his nerves, Conrad had unintentionally dredged up all of the thoughts of Luce. Conrad could remember Luce's fingers pressed deep inside of him, could remember that first time Luce had pressed something else in, something Conrad never would have believed would fit. Conrad could imagine Luce's fingers skating over his skin as he thought about the sex, but at the same time the thoughts gave him shivers they also made him feel dirty, like his face being ground into the muck. Thinking further made him suspect that he was dirty, that letting Luce do these things had changed the precise composition of his insides.

By that point Conrad's stomach was churning and he felt like he was going to throw up. He should have just slid from the toilet seat, propping up the lid and preparing to vomit into its depths. Instead Conrad rose on shaky feet, slowly sliding his boxers down his hips and off the lengths of his legs. He perched on the edge of the bathtub, the enema equipment again resting in his hands. Conrad took a deep breath, steadying himself, beating back the surging panic with everything he could muster.

It was okay. He'd be clean after this, if he could only do it.

The enema bag was still warm in his hands from the water inside it, water Conrad had tested the temperature of exactly. It was another reason he couldn't wait, had to simply start the process before the filtered water in the bag cooled and the process became less relaxing. The girls in his class had told horror stories, about using chilled water and causing horrible cramps, about using cheap root beer and finding out that it burned on the inside. The girls had also said they stretched out on their beds to relax, but Conrad needed the clean sterile environment of his bathroom, needed to slip down into the tub where he could at least attain the lying-down position.

With a little vaseline the enema nozzle slid in easily, and Conrad couldn't help thinking that it was such a smaller thing than a penis, that this could be nowhere near as invasive as sex with Luce that first time. Conrad released the clamp and the water began to flow, and even then it wasn't so bad. It was a more gentle invasion than Luce's cock, really, although the sensation of having that area slowly filled when usually it expelled was almost surreal. Conrad rubbed his stomach in slow counter-clockwise circles, just as they had said, closing his eyes and trying to think of something else.

Even then he couldn't relax. His mother could come home at any time, and he was not in any way prepared to explain what he was doing lying in the bathroom with a coil of tubing curling out from his ass. He remembered in a flash that the packaging had said the connected bag would contain two quarts of water, remembered filling it with his mother's glass measuring cup and counting as each cup of the water descended inside. Now that water was ascending back out into him, moving about his insides and making him clean once again. Two quarts didn't seem like a lot until Conrad started thinking about it in terms of his insides, imagining the liquid advancing like a tide as it flooded into his large intestine. Creeping higher, filling him until he was suffused with pure, clean water, taking away any taint and maybe some of his bad thoughts with it. Maybe he'd be a better person, after this.

Conrad opened his eyes and fiddled with the nozzle, but it still wasn't so uncomfortable as for him to want to stop. He watched his stomach, imagining that it was belling out as the liquid poured in there, a tiny reservoir inside his flesh. The more he thought the more his stomach appeared to distend, to grow round, and Conrad wondered how much of the two quarts was inside of him, how much he could even take before it would start to hurt. The shape of his belly made him think again of his mother, of what she would think, of how she was never happy with him and how her words always put his heart in his throat, knowing he was still a disappointment.

Conrad wondered, absurdly, if things would be easier if he had been a girl. Like the girls in his class. It wouldn't matter so much that a young boy didn't have a father figure to play catch with, or that Conrad would rather sit in his room and draw than go outside and kick a ball around. He'd be able to sit in the next row back with those girls and giggle about Luce, and no one would want to call him a fag or push him into a locker. They might not even care that... That Luce was so much older, that Luce was a college student and an adult and probably loads more mature than Conrad. Those girls were always talking about older guys, and how they'd like to go to college parties and meet boys and drink and get wasted.

Conrad realized that if he was one of those girls, this thing with Luce would probably make him cool.

It would also make him a slut, but a cool slut, and wasn't he kind of a slut already if anyone just even knew? It wasn't like he actually wanted to be a girl, where the expectations were different. He didn't have to think about whether or not to let Luce do him in the front, or if he might get pregnant. He didn't have any options other than what they did already, the places Luce would slide his fingers and his tongue and his knowing, intimate glances. And Conrad thought about some of the girls at school, the stupid ones, the ones who thought getting pregnant was a good way to keep a guy. He'd never have to think about that, not even with derision.

Looking down at the round swell of his belly, Conrad thought that it looked rather like a pregnant girl who was just starting to show, a comparison that both fascinated and repulsed him. His body was already scrawny and pale and surely not anything someone would want to look upon for pleasure, but to add to it that great belled shape of a pregnant stomach... The idea was almost inconceivable. And again, the thought about how a girl could ensnare Luce with a pregnancy, could make sure that Luce at least had to pay her child support and maybe come by once in a while to see his kid, to actually be a father. But even if Conrad was a girl, he couldn't do that. If Luce didn't stick around, if Luce didn't come to see his child... Conrad couldn't ever do that to another child. It hurt too much, not having that parent.

But the part where Luce stayed, where Luce wouldn't leave even though Luce always scoffed that they were not "boyfriends" and that Luce did not belong to Conrad in any way and Conrad should just force those thoughts from his head... That part, that single perfect fact from all of it, that was the temptation. Conrad felt his heart in his throat, felt his chest ache, felt his bowels now swimming with dirty water as if that was part of it too. The part where Luce stayed.

Conrad slowed the water with the nozzle, needing it to slow down, to stop. He clutched at his stomach, feeling again that he was going to throw up and needing to end this whole process, to get to the part afterward where he was clean. His inability to give Luce a baby didn't mean anything; Luce didn't want a stupid screaming baby anyway. The clench in his gut about some older college lady slipping in and showing Luce that Conrad was just an unattractive and uncultured little boy was silly, and it didn't matter that an older college lady would be able to start a family. Conrad hoped that she got breast cancer and had to have her tits scraped off.

Conrad imagined what it would look like, the round pregnant shape of a mother with no breasts, a mangled image combining the bounty of childbirth with loss. He found he wanted to draw it.

Thoughts of crisp pencil lines and cross-hatching relaxed Conrad, allowed him to move himself from the bath to the toilet, where he could remove the nozzle and all of it and just gently massage his stomach until he expelled everything. That part did prove to be soothing and calm, like he'd been right and all the negativity was leaving with the water. Flushed clean, like a new person.

Conrad found himself cleaning and hiding his supplies mechanically, unable to part with this device that had washed through his brains along with his bowels. He went in his room and sketched for a while, messy drawings of the female form morphing through the stages of pregnancy alternated with roughly spat out mutilations, women missing legs and arms and breasts. He tried not to think about Luce's cock while he did it, not to think about washing Luce with soda water and lying on top of him, so Luce's clean cock could press into Conrad's clean body and Conrad could just perch there, serene, while Luce's hips rolled up and up and up until their purity was speckled with harsh white come.